


The things you Do

by rachanlv



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Timeline, Connor is not much better tbh, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hank is a Big Gay, M/M, smitten by Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23872549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachanlv/pseuds/rachanlv
Summary: Slight AU, where Connor and Hank meet after the pacifist ending, in 2041. Hank is a Big Gay™ and gets Connor as his partner and that can't be good. It's not much easier for deviant!Connor, either. Both are idiots and thirsty for each other. Enjoy!
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 12
Kudos: 144





	The things you Do

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first contribution to the DBH fandom, I hope you'll enjoy the read!

Hank hates Connor’s face. That stupid face. That handsome stupid face. That face that is so handsome it’s stupid. It’s freaking ridiculous. Hank’s brain goes into this never-ending train of thoughts, this loop going on and on and _fucking on_ until he practically falls like a pile of bricks into his bed. Slumber. Alcohol induced sweet-sweet slumber – the only place where his brain won’t bring Connor up again. Or so he thought.

***

After the android revolution led by Markus in '38, the world stepped into a new era. After the denial, fear and misunderstanding from both sides, the line between humans and deviant androids became more and more blurred. Step by step, bit by bit, both adapted, understood, and grew rather fond of each other. Human-android relationships had come to a whole new level. Some even dare say they finally reached ‘peace’.

So it was common for the law enforcement to collaborate with JERICHO – formerly CyberLife, now led by Markus himself along with his team – and their androids, as they now were working alongside their human colleagues on fully equal terms. It was August 7th, 2041. Hank would never forget that day. The day everything had changed. Hank recalls the shock that turned into anger, how it boiled inside as Fowler explained that Hank was getting a new partner, an android, for the case he was solving for the past two months – android hate crime. Since when did he need a partner anyways? Hank accepted the revolution (good for them), kinda accepted the new way of things, but, _no_. He explained valiantly that ‘it aint gonna happen’ and ‘only over my dead body’ and as he was about to storm out the captain’s office, there’s a knock at the door and in comes the motherfucker of the hour.

“Good day, Captain Fowler.” Android gave a slight nod in Fowler’s direction and then turned to face Hank with his hand extended for a handshake, “Lieutenant Anderson, I presume? My name is Connor, I’m the android sent to aid the investigation.” And the rest turned into the background buzz, Hank can swear that his jaw nearly went slack at the sight.

***

A bit over three excruciating weeks into their so-called ‘partnership’ and this time Hank needed Jimmy and his magical booze more than ever. He slumped on his regular spot and rubbed his face with a groan.

“The usual?” Jimmy asked without as much as tearing his attention away from the glass he was cleaning.

“Nope, vodka. Double shots. And make that two. No, wait- three.”

Jimmy actually stared at Hank at that point, put the glass on the counter and leaned in, “You alright? Hey, something is definitely up, spill it.”

Hank just looked up at him, sighed heavily, his whole body signaling of exhaustion and reached into the pocket of his jacket. He fished out his phone, clicked on a few buttons and placed it on the counter in front of Jimmy with a thud.

“ _This_ ,” Hank downed the first vodka shot, pointing at the screen, “what is up.”

Behind the counter Jimmy examined the photo on Hank's phone and let out a low whistle, “Oh don’t tell me--“

“Yup.” The second shot burned his throat nicely, “Meet Connor, my freaking partner as of twenty-two days,” he glanced at his watch, “eight hours and thirty-three minutes.”

“That Connor is one handsome guy,” Jimmy pushed the phone back to Hank and poured him another glass.

“Handsome? He’s a masterpiece.” In goes that third shot. “A fucking masterpiece, I tell you.”

Jimmy just barked out a laugh, “Oh, bud, ya gonna need to quit the force now.”

“Shut it,” Hank grunted and stuffed the phone back into his pocket. “I know it’s an android but for fuck’s sake--“

“ _He_. He is an android. And not just any android; this one is gonna _ruin_ you _.”_

Hank just glared at him, annoyed, not knowing that Jimmy would turn out to be a prophet.

***

“Lieutenant?” Connor’s voice brings him back to reality. “Are you listening?”

Hank blinks lazily, scratches his back, looks at his kitchen clock and groans, hangover is still heavy in his bones, three forty-six am, damnit. He looks back at Connor as if seeing him for the first time. “What?”

The day had begun early – way too early by Hank’s standards. It’d better be something very important, so freaking urgent that he had to be dragged out of bed at this ungodly hour, or help him god he _will_ throw this pretty android off his porch.

“I’m here to pick you up, Lieutenant. We have a new case as of...” He takes a few seconds to check, his LED going from blue to yellow and back to blue again “...58 minutes ago.”

Hank was just about to say something coarse and shut the door in front of his face, but he was familiarly pushed aside by the huge furry dozer of a dog that was very much interested in what is going on.

“Ow, damnit, Sumo, get back in the house!“ Hank tried to push his dog back inside, but Sumo was way too preoccupied with studying Connor to even budge.

“You have a dog?” Connor asks almost excitedly, smiling as he raises his hand for Sumo to sniff, and Hank is flabbergasted. That _smile,_ the most genuine, sweet smile that he has seen in what feels like the last decade. The one that goes all the way to the eyes, lighting them up with joy.

Sumo is soon sprawled on his back, showing off his furry belly for Connor to scratch. Connor, on the other hand, looks at Sumo and then up at Hank, uncertainty written all over his face.

"Oh," Hank sighs and scratches the back of his head, "it’s okay. He wants you to scratch his belly, is all."

"Oh!" Connor sits down and raises his hand, but stops halfway, his LED going yellow, yellow, blue. In a moment he reluctantly stands up and adjusts his tie.

"I believe this can wait, Lieutenant. Going by protocol we are to be at the crime scene."

The drive to the crime scene is in a tense silence – his tape deck died just yesterday – and Hank hates driving in silence. It makes him antsy and uncomfortable, even more so than having a shamelessly handsome android so close by his side. They stop at the traffic light and Hank casts a sideways glance at Connor. He's looking straight ahead, as if spacing out, and Hank has to fight the urge to wave a hand in front of his face. That traffic light always takes an eternity to switch back to green, so Hank takes that as an opportunity for a quick smoke.

"I like your dog, Lieutenant." Connor finally speaks up and Hank nearly burns his fingers in surprise. "He seems like a good boy."

Hank only stares at him, eyebrows raised and manages a, "That he is," before finally taking a long drag. He sighs almost delightfully, puffing out the small cloud of smoke; nothing beats a good old cig in the early morning. He caught Connor staring at him, down at the cigarette and up at Hank again.

"What, you want a smoke?" Hank asks sarcastically as the light turns green and they take off.

"Did you know that cigarette smoking is responsible for more than 480,000 deaths per year in the United States alone? This is about one in five deaths annually, or 1,300 deaths every day."

Hank just rolls his eyes, wanting to say something snarky, but Connor actually goes on: "Besides, there is no point in me smoking, or consuming alcohol for that matter. It proves of no use to an android; it does not have the same effect it has on the human consciousness or behavioral pattern."

Connor looks at him again, tilting his head to the side a bit, "But I can smoke, if _you_ want me to, Lieutenant."

There's a flash of images popping up in Hank's head that nearly makes him hit the brakes instead of gas. Like, how Connor, such an uptight doing-everything-by-protocol robo boy, would look with a cigarette between his lips. Hank casts a quick look at Connor's lips and he regrets it immediately. They look so soft, so _lifelike_. He wonders how they taste, wonders if Connor knows how to kiss or does he need teaching-

"Lieutenant Anderson!" Connor’s alarmed voice drags him out from his reverie and just in time for Hank to smash the brakes down hard; they nearly hit another car in front of them.

"Fucking _shit--_ " Hank breathes out through gritted teeth and swears to all the gods at once that he would never look at those lips again, _ever_.

***

So, he lied. Because he's staring at Connor's face as he's working across from his desk. He takes in his features, looking over Connor's beauty marks scattered all over the smooth skin. So far he counted eleven, the ones going down from his right eye all the way to his mouth, are especially captivating. Hank can't stop thinking: why bother making them in the first place? So he'd look more human-like? That's a low blow, cause now Hank wants to know if there are _more_ under these clothes.

Chris calls out to Connor and he turns toward the sound, lifting his head up and replying something, Hank’s not even listening to what they’re saying, cause now he can see Connor’s neck, and the little beauty marks are even there. Not that he never noticed them, it’s just that he can study them more closely now. He catches himself thinking of leaving hickeys in their place. Connor would look _so good_ all marked up. The conversation between Connor and Chris goes on for about a minute or two more, before the latter goes back to his desk. Connor gets back to work, scanning through the files and without even looking away from the screen, opens up the drawer and fishes out a pair of glasses and casually puts them on, like it’s the most ordinary everyday thing that he does. Hank chokes on his coffee at the sight, starts coughing like crazy and to top it all off, spills the goddamn thing all over his desk. A string of curses leaves Hank’s mouth and he could swear that the whole freaking precinct is watching. By the looks on some of their faces, they’re all barely, just barely restraining themselves from laughing their heads off. Hank just gives them all a withering look and suddenly the situation is no longer amusing, so everyone gets back to their duties. All except Connor. He’s already by Hank’s side looking all concerned and even more attractive – is that even possible? – in those stupid glasses.

“Lieutenant, are you alright?” Connor is just inches away, eyebrows knitted in worry and scanning the room for something to wipe the desk with. “One moment.”

Hank is about to object, since Connor really doesn’t need to do anything about it, but the sentiment is appreciated, even if he would never admit it out loud.

“There,” Connor marches off to the janitor’s cleaning tray and bends down to look for a dry cloth. And Hank, honest to God, is so fucking glad that he did not stop him, because now he gets the most spectacular view of Connor’s taut ass. It’s close to hypnotizing and Hank can’t decide whether he hates the fact that he’s thirsty for this fucker or he actually enjoys it. But every time he allows his mind to wander how fantastic it’d be to just come up and squeeze that ass, press Connor flash against him and bite into that smooth neck, he reels himself back. He’s old, too old for this shit.

Suddenly, Connor is back with a cloth. “This should do the trick.” Without as much as a warning he leans over to wipe Hank’s desk.

“The hell are you doing?!” Hank has to protest because Connor is _this_ close that Hank can practically bite into his neck.

“Exposure to moisture of this multitude could significantly damage your work, Lieutenant.” Connor wipes the last of the spilled coffee and glances at Hank from over his shoulder, _winks_ at him and adds, “Swift response was a necessity.” 

Connor finishes up, throws the cloth in the trash, and returns to his seat. Hank just narrows his eyes and mutters, “Smart-ass.”

Connor smiles at the comment, a slight curve of lips and looks back at his screen, “You’re welcome, Lieutenant.”

***

Forty-nine days of working with Connor pass – about forty of which Hank spends jerking off before crashing to bed. It’s got to the point that the minute he steps inside his house after a long shift spent side-by-side with Connor; his hand is already in his pants. He can’t stop himself; he’s like a horny teenager with his dick getting hard just by mentioning Connor’s name. His fantasies are turning wilder and wilder by each passing day, if the first time he did it to the idea of fucking Connor nice and slow; the next day it was the same scenario but with Connor handcuffed to bed and moaning like a slut, loving how Hank fucks him.

Then there are fantasies where Hank and Connor stay late at work, Connor just comes up and sits on Hank’s desk, shamelessly spreading his legs in invitation for Hank to just come fucking over and do whatever he wants with him. They make out hard, Connor’s pressing himself flush against Hank, like he can’t get enough of him. It’s so hot that they don’t even bother taking off their clothes, Hank just drags Connor’s jeans off enough to get to his fantastic ass and unzips his own fly. He slides in easily and Connor feels just so fucking amazing, so tight. It makes Hank lose the last pieces of his sanity. He grabs Connor’s tie and pulls him into a dirty kiss, both of them moaning against each other’s lips, and Hank comes so hard, he nearly blacks out. 

Another one, where Hank loves to imagine that Connor has a cock, fully functional and all, and for some unknown reason they end up in the shower. Hank goes down on him for the first time, making Connor stutter and clench Hank’s shoulders for dear life, because it’s too much, too good. Connor’s voice - how he gasps and groans and moans - makes Hank want him even more. Makes him want to give him pleasure so crazy that Connor won’t be able to process it all. Connor’s face, his voice as he’s about to come is enough to send Hank over the edge.

Or the most recent one that involves both of them in the alley right behind Jimmy’s bar. They have an argument, and one thing leads to another until Hank is fucking him against the brick wall. He likes to imagine that he’s still strong enough to lift Connor up and have him just like that. The thrill of fucking that tight little ass in public, having Connor moan with each deep thrust – all that is far more intoxicating than any booze he had ever tried. Connor is like a fucking drug, he just _needs_ him. He needs his precious boy to come; he wants it more than anything. Hank knows that Connor is close when he’s digging his fingers into Hank’s shoulders, not quite able to control the strength of his grip – he’s going to have bruises there, but it’s so worth it.

But all that jerking off to fantasies is not doing him any good; that pent up sexual frustration is not going anywhere. It gets in the way of his work, of his everyday life and Hank feels like he’s about to snap any day now.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Connor adores Hank's face. He finds it handsome; likes studying it, when Hank’s so into his work that he doesn’t even notice it. Connor enjoys taking in the small changes in his features, like when his brow creases in thought or when he's angry. Finds it charming when Hank smiles and there are wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. Even his completely gray hair is a wonderful addition to everything that is _Hank_. Connor catalogues all these things into his memory core, ignoring the weak 'software instability' warnings.

He likes that Hank can’t hide emotions – literally everything is written on his face. That’s just the kind of person he is. He is blunt, rude, and stubborn like a mule, which takes a lot to get used to, but at the same time he’s attentive, kind, and just captivating – although he denies all of it. Also, Connor did not fail to notice that regardless of Hank’s age he’s pretty strong and enduring.

Back on August 7th he wasn’t even sure as to what to expect when he’d walk into Captain Fowler’s office. He studied Lieutenant Anderson’s file in and out, knew about the big breakthrough in his career, how he became the youngest Lieutenant in Detroit. Knew about his disciplinary reprimands; truly a controversial, yet extremely fascinating personality.

He had adjusted his tie and knocked, waited for two seconds, walked in. Greeted the Captain and turned his attention to his partner-to-be with a friendly gesture of extended hand. Connor did not know what to make of Hank’s baffled expression at the time.

***

Hank is kind. Connor witnessed that on more than one occasion. One, for instance, Hank tried to comfort an old lady who lost her android dog. The lady was so devastated and in tears, she walked up to the first officer that was in her closest proximity and it turned out to be Hank. He didn’t send her away because it’s just some dumb android dog or send her to talk to another officer. He sat her down, brought her water, filed a report, and all the while tried to comfort her as much as he could. He was very considerate with her, although Connor didn’t quite understand why.

He soon understands, though. A few days later he stands on Hank’s porch at three-forty in the morning and rings the doorbell. There’s no answer. He rings again, pressing his finger on the small button more determinately this time, the bell ringing louder. Footsteps can be heard on the other side and the door flies open a moment after. Hank stands before him, looking rumpled and very annoyed. He is obviously still half-asleep as he reaches behind his shoulder in an attempt to scratch his back. His shirt lifts up with the motion, revealing a patch of skin and Connor's eyes dart down instinctively to look at the exposed skin. _Software instability._ Connor blinks a few times and drags his eyes away. He considers apologizing for waking Hank up this early, but then again, he hasn’t done anything wrong; he’s just doing his job, so he opts for, “Good morning, Lieutenant,” instead.

A moment passes where Hank just mutters something grumpily before being pushed aside by an enormous fuzzy dog that makes Connor’s hands almost itch to scratch behind its ears. He likes dogs. He’s not quite sure if this strange fondness was there before his deviancy, but not like it actually matters now. So he smiles at the dog – Sumo is its name – and lets it sniff his hand, understanding now why Hank was so sympathetic with the old lady the other day: he has a dog of his own. Connor scratches behind Sumo’s ears and the feeling of silky fur is very pleasant against his fingers, regardless of the fact that his skin is all synthetic. He smiles even wider. Connor wasn’t expecting this morning to be this pleasant. He looks up at Hank to make sure that what he’s doing with Sumo is okay – Connor didn’t ask for permission, after all – and there’s that look on Hank’s face again. Hank looks at him like he’s mesmerized, like he can’t believe what he sees. There’s a weirdly pleasant feeling when Hank looks at him like that, something he's not sure how to categorize just yet.

***

Hank actually cares about him. Although he tries his very best to hide it, frankly, he fails miserably at it. There have been several occasions that have made Connor come to the conclusion that Hank is actually a gentle person under all these layers of snarky sarcasm and facade of indifference.

One:

They arrive at the crime scene, thankfully not crashing Hank's car; and the moment they step out it begins to rain, the kind of downpour that will soak you through to the bone in seconds. They know the protocol and get straight to work, with only mild complaining from Hank's side. Connor's talking with the witnesses outside and is getting all wet. He can feel how his shoulders and back are getting damp. Not that wet and cold clothes bother him in the first place, but after the witnesses leave, he feels that the rain has suddenly stopped. Connor looks up and there's Hank, holding out an umbrella over Connor's head.

“C'mon, we're done here. I'll walk you to the car,” Hank offers and Connor can’t help but smile. It’s an involuntary action, and Connor really needs to run some tests on his software, because something must be malfunctioning if he wants to smile whenever Hank comes into view.

He notices yet another of those strange looks on Hank's face and decides to ask this time. “Why are you looking at me like that, Lieutenant?”

Hank coughs and furrows his eyebrows. “Looking like what? What do you mean? I'm just making sure that no water would get into your cogs or microchips or whatever it is inside you.” He shakes his head and looks away immediately.

Connor can easily tell that Hank's heartbeat has increased by fourteen percent and there's a slight increase in his body temperature, resulting in the tip of his ears turning slightly red. The tell-tale signs that Hank is lying.

Two:

Connor sits on the hood of Hank's car, running system diagnostics to the accompaniment of Hank's angry shouts and accusations. Connor got shot while chasing the perpetrator, and his shoulder and forearm sustained a moderate amount of damage, thirium soaking his clothes deep blue.

“For fuck's sake, Connor! I told you _not to move_!” Hank was pacing back and forth angrily. “Why do you never listen to a damn thing I say?!”

Connor opens his mouth to say something, but Hank interrupts and carries on. “You could've been killed!”

“I caught the guy! Isn’t that what really matters?” Connor finally cuts in, finishes the diagnostic and stands up, fresh blue stains marking Hank's car.

Hank comes up to Connor at point blank, presses a finger to his chest and growls. “What _really_ matters--” There’s fury in his eyes as he goes on, “--is you staying _alive_ , you fucking idiot!”

Connor doesn't quite understand Hank's reasoning, so he pushes on. “Lieutenant, after running a quick analysis, your cortisol levels have raised rather significantly.”

Hank knits his eyebrows in annoyance. “The fuck's that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you are experiencing a significant amount of stress and fear.” Connor tilts his head to the side. “But... why?”

Hank just glares at him for a long moment, lips in a thin line. Connor looks right back at him, gaze unwavering. His LED is swirling yellow as he tries to analyze Hank and what is going on between them.

Then the realization dawns on him, like puzzle pieces finally falling into place. Hank _likes_ him. He cares about _him_. That's the reason he got so scared and why he's so angry now. _Software instability detected_ errors start popping up and he has to close his eyes for a moment to make them go away. Regardless, Hank chooses to ignore the question that hangs in the air and just snaps, “Get in the fucking car; we need to fix you up.”

***

A few days after that incident they’re back at the precinct; work's just piling in with not much of a breather. It’s not like Connor gets tired, so he's more concerned about Hank's wellbeing. The case they’re working on is rather intricate, demanding high focus and attention and Connor's gets the idea that Hank’s been working after hours.

But regardless of the workload, every now and then Connor allows himself to wander back to that day when he got shot. He rewinds the memory and with each replay and analysis he is more and more certain that Hank feels something for him. He doesn’t quite get what, though. And what's more troubling is that after several long overnight self-tests he came to a conclusion that this strange feeling is mutual. He cares for Hank, more deeply than he initially thought. He longs for Hank's company and feels this strange contentment when he's near. He worries about him. He loves feeling Hank's eyes on him, and when Hank looks away, Connor wants him to look back, wants his undivided attention. He loves when Hank stands a little too close so their shoulders are touching; he always feels this strange rush, the thirium pump in his chest working faster.

He catches himself looking at Hank more and more, paying closer attention to the details he didn’t notice at first. Like his hands. He wonders how they would feel against his synthetic skin - against his face, against his lips. How would it make him feel if Hank’s hand would wander over his neck and chest? What would be his system’s response to all these stimuli? Then another thing that makes Connor curious: Hank’s beard. Would the rough hairs tickle or scratch when Hank bites into his neck? It takes a few seconds for him to pre-construct a scene where Hank actually _does that,_ his teeth sinking in the crook of Connor's neck, as his strong hands pull him close. Connor can feel the heat of Hank's body next to his. Another bite, rougher this time, followed by a drag of the tongue over the bruise - a mock attempt to make it go away. In this simulation, Hank's hands wander all over his body, sneaking under his uniform and feeling him _everywhere._ Connor can feel his LED turning red as the comprehension finally hits him. He can feel a strange electrical surge throughout his body. _He_ _wants Hank_. A swirl of angry red errors starts to pop-up again, far more persistently this time:

_Warning: internal temperature rising by thirty-four percent_ _._

_Warning: software instability detected_ _._

_Warning: thirium pump destabilization detected._

Connor just closes them all with a couple of blinks and shakes his head weakly. So this is what wanting someone feels like. It's... overwhelming, to say the least.

He hears someone calling his name - Chris. He hopes no one will notice his LED, so he does his best to cut the conversation short, giving the precise and accurate information that Chris needs. When the man leaves, Connor swiftly opens up the drawer of his desk and puts his glasses on, in the hopes of diverting attention from his temple. He needs time to stabilize; there’s no need for Hank to see this. And then there’s loud coughing and curses, and Hank's coffee is spilled everywhere.

_________________________________________________________________________________

It's been an exceptionally long and hard day. The kind of day after which Hank rewards himself with a glass or two –three ?– of whiskey for being a grown-ass adult and being able to keep his hands to himself. Because fuck Connor and his fucking glasses. He downs the second glass, whiskey burning his throat nicely. He thinks about Connor again, just for a brief second, and his dick stirs in interest. He takes some long, deep breaths and tries to will his arousal away; no man should be jerking off this much, it’s insane. Unfortunately, it's not going away. He's already half-hard and with a groan, he rubs his face and gets up. Shower it is, then.

He sheds his clothes and steps into the hot shower, letting the water wash over him. Hank stands still for a minute or two, then closes his eyes and allows yet another fantasy into his mind. He wraps a hand around his cock and starts - slow and steady rhythm at first, but he quickly changes the pace. Faster, harder. Wrapping his fist around himself, picturing what Connor's ass would feel like around his cock.

He opens his eyes just for a brief moment and freezes completely still. There's Connor. Standing in the bathroom doorway. Time seems to stop and Hank knows that he should get the fuck out of this shower and yell at Connor, because _what the actual fuck-?_ How long has he been standing there?

Connor doesn't say anything. He takes a couple of steps forward and undoes his tie, letting it fall on the floor at his feet. Next comes the shirt. He pops the buttons open with deft fingers and slides out of it, revealing flawless skin. He leaves the shirt piled on the floor as well. Then the shoes come off, then the belt, and finally his jeans.

Hank’s eyes dart down and his wildest fantasy is actually real – Connor does have a dick, fucking god. Hank is rooted to the ground; he can't move, he can't even speak, he can only look at Connor like he can’t understand whether he is hallucinating about all of this or not.

The shower door slides open and Connor steps inside and stands right in front of him. Hank is completely dumbstruck. They are both completely naked. In his shower. Connor's perfect body is so dangerously close to his – it's surreal. What feels even more surreal is that Connor's actually the first one to move as he places an unsteady hand on Hank's chest. Feeling how Hank's heart is hammering against his ribs at an unhealthy pace makes Connor's own 'heart' pump the blue blood faster. All sorts of warnings come up again but he ignores them and leans in closer, all the while looking Hank in the eye, and tentatively presses his lips against Hank's.

And that's the point where Hank's self-restraint snaps, he grabs Connor by the shoulders and presses his lips hard against Connor's, mind being thrown for a loop because Connor just opens up wide, taking Hank’s tongue into his mouth without any protest. It's sloppy and messy and probably Connor's first time kissing but, Christ, Hank just can't get enough. His whole body shudders with pleasure when Connor's the one to deepen the kiss, his hand firm on Hank's nape, pulling him _closer_. Hank's so hard just from kissing, licking into Connor's fantastic mouth, feeling Connor's soft tongue against his own, he feels like he can come just from this alone. Then he feels it – Connor's hard cock against his skin and, God have mercy, he fucking _needs_ this. He pulls away from Connor's lips, leaving him as if dazed and slides down. He was fantasizing about it for so long and he can’t believe he gets to finally do this.

Connor's confused face is priceless, all wide eyes as he just manages to ask, “What are you do--” before he actually _chokes_ as Hank wraps his lips around Connor's perfect synthetic cock, groaning around it, the rest of that question dying out in Connor’s throat.

_Warning!_ _Internal temperature rising by fifty-seven percent._

_Warning!_ _Software instability detected._

_Warning!_ _Thirium pump destabilization detected._

_Warning!_ _System processor error detected._

The more Connor looks at what Hank is doing to him, the more errors keep piling up. Hank wraps a hand around Connor and begins to move it in unison with his mouth. The sound that Connor makes is the fucking hottest moan Hank has ever heard. So raw and full of _emotion_ and _want_. Hank wants to hear a whole damn symphony of Connor moaning, so he begins to bob his head up and down, sucking on Connor's cock, loving the weight of it on his tongue.

Connor desperately tries – and fails miserably – to say something. All he can do at the moment is moan helplessly and twine his fingers in Hank's hair.

_Fucking yes,_ Hank can't believe this. It's his wildest fantasy coming to life and then some. Nothing he ever imagined could even compare to this. He wraps his free hand around himself; he's so painfully hard by now, he needs to come or he'll fucking explode.

Hank can feel Connor’s hand drifting from his hair to his shoulder, fingers pressing into the skin and Connor somehow manages to say, “Can we--?” Hank stops and looks up. “Can we take a moment?”

From what Hank knows about androids – which isn’t much, in all honesty – he can easily tell that something is not right. Connor does not look like himself. “You okay? _”_ he asks, concern in his voice as he gets up. Connor looks as if he's about to faint and that can't be good.

“I'm fine. I just need a moment.” The final syllables come out as static mixed in with Connor’s usual voice, which makes Hank seriously worried. He places both of his hands on Connor’s shoulders and looks him over, as if trying to analyze him, in the hopes of finding out what’s wrong.

“You know what, let’s get you to bed so you can lie down or something.” He takes Connor’s hand and begins to lead him out of the shower.

“I don’t need to--” Connor begins to protest, but Hank, having anticipated the reaction, counters before Connor can finish.

“You don’t need to lie down ‘cause you’re not human. I know. But it’s not gonna hurt, right?”

With that said, they step out of the shower. Hank quickly wraps a towel around Connor’s hips and one around his own, and they slowly walk out of the bathroom. As they pass the small part of the corridor from one room to another, Sumo's ears perk up; he raises his head to look at both his owner and Connor in his arms, and lets out a little whine, as if asking if everything is okay. Hank just reassures him with a quick, “It’s fine, Sumo,” and closes the bedroom door.

Hank sits Connor down on his bed and joins him shortly after, looking him up and down, just to make sure. Connor turns to face him, his LED swirling yellow. With a weak smile, Connor finally speaks; his voice finally stabilized. “I guess I need to explain.”

“Oh, yeah.” Hank nods, not entirely sure what he feels and what he _should_ feel about all of this. “Let’s start with: what the hell--?”

“--happened back in the shower?”

“ _Yes_ , let’s start with that.” Hank nods again, arms crossed over his chest, waiting.

“In the shower, I overheated. My system was barraging me with errors and warnings, because--” Connor stops, eyes darting at Hank, “--it was just… overwhelmingly good. My system was not designed to handle such…” He pauses for a second, searching for the correct word. “...stimulation.”

Hank raises his eyebrow at that, feeling a bit of conflict on the inside; on the one hand, he’s feeling shamelessly smug, but on the other, he’s very concerned about Connor overheating. He knows that androids can combust or whatnot if their stress level is too high and that is _not_ something he wants to happen to Connor. The room fills with silence, as Hank considers what to say.

“I guess I own you an apology, then.” Hank says, looking at the floor. “I shouldn't have... done all those things to you.”

Connor snaps to attention at these words and stares at Hank. “Why? Do you regret it?”

Now it's Hank's turn to look up and stare back at Connor. “What? No! I-- Of course I don’t regret it! I just don't want you to do anything that you don't want to.”

“I wanted every second of what happened in that shower. I have wanted you for quite some time now. I still do.” Connor says it so matter-of-factly, with such honesty, that Hank's jaw nearly hits the floor. Hank feels his face burning up and wants to punch himself because, _fucking shit_ , he must look like a blushing schoolgirl right now. This is all _too much_ for one day and Hank actually feels a bit dizzy. But miraculously, somehow, he manages to step over himself and admit, “I... want you, too.” He rubs his face and groans, “So much. You can’t fucking imagine.”

“Oh, you gave me quite a non-subtle demonstration just moments earlier,” Connor adds, trying to lighten the mood. By the little smile on Hank's face, he guesses that he’s somewhat succeeded at that task.

With a half-laugh, half-sigh, Hank falls back onto the bed and closes his eyes; he wants to say so many things, but _what_ can he actually say to make this less awkward than it already is? If it was any other failed hook up, he'd probably offer some coffee to the guy, the guy would decline and that would be that and they'd never see each other again. But Hank knows that right now, with Connor, it's not just a rare hook up to pass a lonely night. It feels something _more,_ he _wants_ it to be something more.

The shift of the weight on the mattress makes Hank open his eyes. Connor stands up from the bed and re-adjusts the towel on his hips. 

“Connor?” Hank asks, looking at his pale back. “What--?”

“You look like you need a rest. Don’t worry, I'll see at work tomorrow.”

Hank _does_ need it. He’s completely worn out by the events of today, but _no_. He won’t forgive himself if he lets Connor go just like that. He _can't_ and he _won't_. So Hank gets up just enough to catch Connor by his wrist, fingers looping around his hand gently. Connor turns to face him, not saying a word, LED swirling yellow.

“Stay…” Hank mutters. A moment stretches on as he builds up the courage to say it properly. “Stay the night?”

Connor can't stop the smile that's spreading across his face along with some sort of a warm tingling sensation through all of his being. _Software instability_. “Yeah, I'd like that.”

***

The morning sunlight peers shyly through the curtains, illuminating bits and pieces of Hank's bedroom in a golden glow. Hank mumbles something in his sleep and turns onto his side. Connor can't look away; Hank looks so peaceful in his sleep, no worries or stress, just sweet bliss.

Hank drags his eyes open, just as the last software upgrade finishes its installation. He sees Connor and there's a sting of panic followed by realization that indeed, he did not hallucinate yesterday. But all of the worry gets washed away instantly, as he sees Connor looking at him with a smile on his lips, and Hank smiles right back.

“Guess I'm not dreaming.” Hank gets up on one elbow and reaches out to Connor, fingers looming next to his cheek, but not touching. “You actually _did_ stay.”

“I did.” Connor nods, considers Hank's uncertain hand close to his face and adds a tad bit sarcastically, “You _can_ touch me, you know. I'm not going to catch fire and burn your house down.”

“Ha-ha, very funny, smartass,” Hank says, rolling his eyes, clear notes of amusement in his voice.

“Well, I _did_ learn from the best,” Connor counters and they both share a stifled laugh.

A moment passes and Connor asks, tilting his head to the side, “So?”

“So?” Hank echoes, confused that he's not catching on to something.

“Are you going to touch me or not?”

It’s such a blunt question asked with such straightforwardness that Hank doesn't even know how to react or what to say, his eyebrows shooting up in bewilderment. He stares at Connor with wide eyes and blinks once, then twice. Connor lets him have a moment before shifting in bed so that he's closer to Hank, and brushes his fingers against his beard, loving how the rough hairs feel against his skin. Hank can’t look away; he feels glued to his bed, fearing that a wrong move would ruin this... whatever the hell this is. Connor's fingers move along Hank's jaw, then move down over his Adam apple and brush over his collarbone. He lingers there, fingers tracing lines back and forth. This somehow feels so... sensual. So _intimate_ that Hank forgets how to breathe, his skin prickling up at the sensation.

After another languid drag of fingers against skin, Connor dips his head and kisses the side of Hank's neck. His whole body _shudders_ at the feeling and he actually jolts under Connor's touch; he wasn't expecting this. Connor halts all of his movement for a brief second, noting an increase in Hank's heart rate and body temperature, but since Hank doesn't make a move to stop him, he takes that as a cue to continue. He contemplates his further actions for a moment, wonders if he's pushing the boundaries too much but after the last night he doubts that there _are_ any boundaries left to push, so he sinks his teeth into the crook of Hank's neck and that seems to be enough to bring Hank out of his stupor; with a low groan he grabs Connor's waist and pulls him over and down onto the bed, so that he ends up pinned under Hank’s body. Hank's brain nearly explodes as he catches on that not only is _he_ naked under the covers from last night, but Connor is too. He can’t believe that any of this is happening- Connor could've got dressed, he could've 'slept' elsewhere, he could've left when Hank passed out in bed, yet he _chose not to._ And Hank, honest to God, doesn’t understand why someone so perfect would still be here with _him_ , off all people.

He leans over, hesitating for a moment, and then lightly presses his lips against Connor's, not sure as to how to play this yet. He starts with slow kisses, gently licking into Connor's gorgeous mouth and loving how Connor returns the favor in full. He frames Connor's face with his hands then, and deepens the kiss, the pace turning more and more fervent with each slide of tongue against tongue, with each touch of skin on skin under the sheets. He's feeling the heat and rush taking over him, he feels so young again – _Connor_ makes him feel young again. By the way Connor presses himself against Hank, how he grinds his fantastic body against his – _god_ – his head is spinning and he wants to get drunk on this. But then something in his mind clicks and he backs away. Connor might overheat again.

“No. Sorry. I-- Uh…” Hank words come out in a scrambled mess. He wants to carry on, so _much_ , but he’s not letting his dick make the calls here. “We’re making the same damn mistake again. You’re going to overheat.”

“It’s okay.” Connor runs a soothing hand over Hank’s shoulder, calming him, “I won’t. Not anymore.”

“Not… anymore?”

Connor just looks at him and smiles in such a suggestive way – that little devil – that Hank wants to bite into that mouth again. But he waits for Connor to explain.

“I have installed a certain upgrade to my software while you were asleep.” He perches up on one elbow, so he can reach Hank, their faces so teasingly close. Hank’s self-restraint is put to the test again.

“And what kind of upgrade is that?” Hank can feel the air between them buzzing with electricity, sparks going off everywhere. _Steady_.

“Let’s just say, it’s something…” Connor leans in and drags his tongue over Hank’s lower lip, tasting and testing. “...strictly against protocol.”

Hank swallows hard. _Steady_. His own tongue darts out to lick at his lower lip, a weak attempt to taste Connor there. “And what does this upgrade allow you to do?”

“Many things.” Connor takes Hank’s hand in his and places it on his cheek, “For example, it allows me to keep my internal heat regulator at bay as I do this.” He turns his head to the side slightly and licks at Hank’s thumb, then another two fingers, his tongue dragging up slowly. His system instantly registers the sudden increase in Hank’s heartbeat. He turns his attention to the thumb again and wraps his lips around it and is struck by how much he loves the feeling, lapping his tongue over the skin, over and over.

“Fucking Chirst, Connor.” Hank can’t help the low groan escaping his mouth as he's looking at those delicious lips doing such things. He can’t stop imagining how amazing Connor’s mouth would be wrapped around his cock.

Connor stops and adds, “ _Or_ when I do this,” and guides Hank’s hand down his body, not missing a single curve. The feeling of Hank’s hand going down his neck, over his chest is sending jolts up his system, like small electric shocks – pleasant but with a hint of a light sting. Connor glides Hank’s hand even lower, passing his taut stomach, and when Hank thinks that he knows where the final stop will be, he is proven wrong. Because his hand just briefly touches Connor’s beautiful cock and instead goes even lower. Connor adjusts Hank’s hand just so and slides his fingers _inside_. Hank instantly chokes on his want; he can’t fucking believe this. He moves his hand on his own this time, slowly, losing last pieces of his sanity as he begins to fuck Connor on his fingers. It’s maddening, looking at how that delicious little hole takes his fingers with such ease, he can’t--

And then Connor _moans,_ and it’s such a dirty and mind-blowingly sexy sound, Hank knows that he can’t wait any longer. “Fuck, you’re driving me up the wall here.”

Somewhere between the moans Connor manages to rasp out, “Lie on your back,” and Hank isn’t sure if he heard him right. Connor repeats himself, voice thick with want but still manages to sound commanding. “On your back.”

Hank complies gladly. The position and dynamic shifts instantly, and all the air is as if punched out of his lungs as Connor straddles his hips, leans over for another scorching hot kiss, and slides down on his cock. Hank’s head falls back into the pillows. Fucking god, it’s too good to be true. Connor begins to move, hips working up a steady rhythm and Hank can’t help it as his hands knead into that glorious ass. They don’t waste much time in finding the right pace, they synch up beautifully almost immediately – each of Hank's thrusts meeting each drop of Connor’s hips perfectly.

Connor is fantastic. He's everything Hank never knew he needed, and everything about him is sheer perfection. _Everything_ – from his face to his wonderful cock that clearly needs attention and Hank does just that: wraps a hand around Connor and jerks him off to the rhythm of their fucking. Connor stifles down a moan by biting his lower lip, his hips stuttering in their movement.

“Hank, you--”

And Hank can almost hear the words: "Hank you’re gonna make me come", he knows he's so, so close himself. But nothing can prepare him for what escapes Connor's mouth next.

“--you're everything I imagined you to be.”

_Fuck._

Connor imagined this, he _fantasized_ about _this_. About Hank kissing him, touching him, _fucking him_. Hank lets out a low growl and that’s enough for him. His whole body feels like he’s on fire, and he's coming hard, white dots dancing before his eyes. He feels something liquid and warm on his hand and his wrecked brain realizes that Connor came, too. He looks up, and Connor is gasping heavily, like he actually needs the air to breathe. His hair a complete mess, his synthetic skin retracted in places where Hank bit down at his neck. God, Hank can look at him like this forever, but noticing Connor's LED swirling red he can feel panic building up in his gut again.

“You feeling okay?” he asks warily, looking all over Connor's face carefully.

Connor just looks at him and smiles like the cat who got the cream, the only difference being that he's not purring. The swirl of his LED gradually turns yellow, as he leans over and kisses Hank again, slow and lazy, taking his time. When they pull apart, Connor finally speaks. “I'm feeling exceptionally good. Although--”

Hank can feel his whole body tensing up. “Although...?”

“I need to tweak these new upgrades; I nearly rebooted--”

“You _what_ _?_ When? Why didn't you tell me?” Hank straightens up, shifting their position, with Connor sitting on his lap facing him.

“Well, I _was_ rather preoccupied with enjoying myself, you know.” Connor wraps his arms over Hank's broad shoulders and adds, with that seductive curve of lips back again, “Didn't want you to stop, either.”

With that said, Hank frames his face with a sigh. “I need you to tell when something like that happens, alright? I don’t want you passing out on me, damnit.”

“I will, I promise.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Hank mutters into the kiss, and he can feel Connor smiling against his lips. They sit like that for a moment longer, just enjoying each other, kissing like nothing matters but right here and right _now._ Connor finally gets up to pick up his clothes – they _do_ have to be at work in thirty minutes – but Hank just crashes back into the bed and smiles from ear to ear. It’s the best morning he’s had in the last freaking decade and he sure hopes it won't be his last.


End file.
